Chapter Text
“Do you think they use real dragon?”
The question catches Azelle off guard as he turns to face his daughter, holding a frozen box of dragon nuggets in hand. He pauses in contemplation, his fingers wrapping around the shopping trolley’s handlebar.
“Surely not,” he replies. “Wyverns are expensive to capture, much less process. I’m sure it’s just about the shape.”
His eyes scan the frozen section. There are pre-baked pies, pastries; fun breaded meals designed to give people an extra twenty minutes to catch their breath at the end of a busy workday. Azelle doesn’t need the extra time, not yet. He prides himself in being organised. He likes watching Tailtiu slump into the couch as he readies dinner for her and the children.
Tine scrunches her nose as she squints at the packaging. “They don’t look much like wyverns to me.”
“They hardly ever do,” Azelle agrees.
Tine points to the image, at a tiny blob holding onto the edge of the salad. “A head?”
Azelle follows his daughter’s lead as he stares at the packaging. “It’s from Thracia,” he says, looking at the tiny white label at the edge of the frozen box.
“Wyvern’s cheaper there…right?” Tine points out. “Maybe it is real dragon, father.”
Azelle’s lips curl up in a smile. “Perhaps,” He concedes. He asks his daughter if she’d like to have them for breakfast tomorrow, to which she eagerly agrees. Arthur will have the same. His son is a little harder to understand, for him- Arthur is a growing teenager, all lanky limbs, with edges in his personality that seem both sharp and blunt. He's much more like his mother, and Azelle couldn't be prouder of his son.
He notes the price reduction on the nuggets before placing it gingerly in the cart to his daughter’s delight.